


Slow Burn

by anysin



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Attempted Abortion, Body Horror, Bondage, Dream Sex, Exorcisms, M/M, Mpreg, Multi, Nightmares, Possession, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide Attempt, Triangle Bill Cipher
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-01-30 09:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12650727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/pseuds/anysin
Summary: Bill finds a way to come back, or at least ruin the lives of the older Pines twins a little more. Billstanwich mpreg.Latest update: Stan gives birth.





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> Rape scene in this chapter.

Stan wakes up.

He sits up in his bunk, damp with sweat. He has kicked the covers off him and made a tangled mess of his sheets; those were the tell-tale signs of a nightmare in his childhood. They shouldn’t be at this age anymore. Feeling flushed in the face, Stan gets out of the bunk and starts to tidy it up.

He doesn’t notice any movement in the dark until he’s body-slammed into the wall.

“Hey!” He manages to catch a punch that’s coming for his face, but he isn’t fast enough to block an arm that closes over his throat. “Sixer, it’s me!”

Stan claws at the arm with both hands, knowing Ford will take this as a chance to look him in the eyes. Ford looks wild himself, disoriented, like he’s in a completely other place than Stan. The sight chills Stan, but he keeps his eyes open, lets Ford stare into them.

The arm against Stan’s throat is the first part of Ford to relax, after which the recognition spreads into Ford’s eyes. Ford steps backwards, devastation washing over his face.

“Stanley,” he says. “I’m so sorry.”

Stan chuckles, even though his throat hurts. “It’s okay, Sixer. I had a nightmare too.”

*

It’s like something about living on the boat has set them both off. It hadn’t been so in the first few weeks, which had frankly been the best ones in Stan’s life. He had his brother back, he was making his old dreams come true, or rather was turning them into new dreams. The future finally looked bright for him. Neither of them had seen the nightmares coming at all.

Ford’s dreams are straightforward. In those, Bill is back, Bill was never gone in the first place, Ford is still in the Fearamid, Ford is running for his life in strange worlds. When he wakes up, he’s ready to fight, and sometimes he goes looking for a fight. Stan tends to suffer in either case.

Stan’s dreams all have a common theme: death. His own, of Ford, of the kids, of Soos and Wendy, of everyone in the world; sometimes Bill is in those dreams, sometimes he isn’t. When he is, Stan begs him to spare the others, only to be treated like air. He never pleads for his own life, but Bill laughs at him like he does, anyway.

“Always an afterthought, aren’t you?” Bill says in one dream, and the words sting all the way to the morning.

The possibility that Bill might be back crosses both of their minds, but in the end there doesn’t seem to be enough evidence for it; they don’t need Bill to have nightmares and they both know trauma works in interesting ways. Still, it’s a relief when their nights start becoming easier, their dreams less intense.

“Maybe we’re afraid of change,” Ford suggests over breakfast once. “Maybe it’s hard to get used to not having to watch out backs anymore.”

“Maybe,” Stan agrees. It’s not like he has any better ideas.

*

Over time, Stan’s nightmares change.

Little by little, they get more claustrophobic, emptying of people; they fill with Bill instead. He and Stan are in a forest, in a wasteland, at an empty beach. Stan may be running, or then he can’t, either because he’s held down or he’s hurt, or he doesn’t have any legs at all. Sometimes, Bill doesn’t even appear; all Stan can hear is Bill’s laughter as Stan burns, or a tornado swallows him, or he drowns. When Bill is there, he is up in Stan’s face, bright red, his eye pitch black.

“To think that you of all people,” he starts, and never finishes. His hands are always cold when he presses them over Stan’s nostrils and mouth.

Sometimes, it’s hard to wake up without screaming. Sometimes, Stan can’t scream at all.

He reports the dreams to Ford, who frowns over each of them, but in the end they do nothing about them; the nightmares have become increasingly rare and don’t cause disturbances on the boat anymore. Whatever seems to be going on in Stan’s brain, it seems to be passing. They are on their way to being okay again.

*

Stan dreams of swimming in the lake.

He knows it’s a dream because he’s wearing swimming trunks, which he never does in real life; other than that the dream feels like a memory, warmly familiar. The water is cool and pleasant around him, the sun is warming his head and shoulders, and all the noise is far away. Everything is perfectly peaceful.

That should have been his warning sign.

When he feels something cold and slimy wrap around his ankle, he instantly kicks at it, several times when it doesn’t let go; it lets him exhaust himself before pulling him undertow. There is a golden glow coming from the bottom of the lake, and from the glow more tentacles are reaching out, grabbing Stan from the ankles. It’s not hard to guess that it’s Bill down there, and Stan renews his struggles when more tentacles start wrapping around his legs, his torso, his arms.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Bill comments, his glow burning brighter as he pulls Stan deeper into the waters.

Stan keeps fighting, harder when two tentacles slither beneath his swimming trunks, pulling the fabric taut as one wraps around his genitals, covering them from root to tip while other slides against his ass, rubbing against his hole. He wants to scream, but there is a tentacle around his throat, squeezing until his eyes fill with tears; he opens his mouth anyway and stops holding his breath, determined to finish this dream before it goes any further.

Water flows into his nostrils, into his throat. It burns on its way in.

He doesn’t wake up.

Tentacles grab a hold of his trunks and rip them open from the side, letting the remnants float away while other tentacles grab Stan’s legs, spreading them. The tentacle around his throat pushes its head into Stan’s mouth, reaching to the very back of it, until he’s gagging. From below, Bill laughs.

“Ever been fu- hah, of course you’ve been, you old whore.” As the tentacles hold him open, Stan feels something poke against him; it must be a tentacle too, but it’s larger, thicker than the ones holding and choking him. It’s hot when it presses against Stan’s hole, pushing at the tight ring of muscle.

“Well, Fishie, this time it’s going to be special.”

The tentacle thins slightly from the tip before it pushes past the rim of his hole, but the rest of it is still thick, stretching him as it goes in. It hurts and Stan screams, his thighs and stomach trembling against the invasion; the tentacle starts to leak fluids inside him, slicking his inner flesh. It makes things a little better, but the tentacle is still reaching in deeper, leaving no spot inside him untouched.

Stan bites the inside of his cheek when the tentacle finds his prostate, but it doesn’t stop his body from responding.

“Like I said, a whore.” The tentacle around Stan’s cock and balls starts to move too, its coils squirming against Stan, making blood rush between his legs. Stan cries out at the feeling, squeezing his eyes shut while Bill laughs at him. “All right, let’s do this.”

Bill fucks him hard, making his body rock back and forth in the grip of the tentacles. The tentacle around his cock is stroking and squeezing him, soothing where the tentacle inside him is punishing, slamming into him with force that makes his teeth gnash. It’s unpleasant, but that’s good; Stan doesn’t want to get any pleasure out of this. He doesn’t want to feel his balls tighten, his cock twitch as his climax gets nearer.

He feels it all anyway, as well as something the rush of something hot inside him as the tentacle fucking him goes from tense to soft, and slides slowly out of him. The tentacles around his limbs and torso still hold on, keeping him spread and exposed before Bill. The tentacle around his throat withdraws and lets him go, but Stan refuses to look down, where Bill is laughing and laughing.

*

After he wakes up in the morning, he has to stay in his bunk a little longer than usual to make himself calm down. He can’t stop feeling himself, making sure that there really is nothing holding him anymore.

He can’t bring himself to say anything to Ford at the breakfast table, even though his brother obviously knows that something happened last night. He just- it’s not the first time he’s dreamed of something like that, and he has said nothing to Ford about those previous times. He doesn’t think he’s ready to start opening those old wounds yet, especially if the reason is that he can’t stop dreaming about someone who hurt Ford so bad.

And who knows, maybe this is the last nightmare. Maybe after this, his subconscious will finally be done with Bill for good. He hopes so much that is the case.

*

For a while, it seems like hoping for the best is working.

For a while, Stan doesn’t even realize he’s gaining weight.


	2. Observations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some weight talk.

Every now and then, Ford needs to conduct an experiment.

For that, Stan needs to be asleep. Ford waits for an hour after Stan has settled in for the night before getting up from his own bunk, sneaking into Stan's cabin. Despite Ford's suggestions, Stan still doesn't lock the door, so it's easy for Ford to push it open and peek inside, ready to lie for his life in case Stan is still up. But Stan never is. He's sprawled on his back, mouth hanging open as he snores, the very picture of elegance.

The sight never fails to make Ford smile when he retreats back to his cabin, but the smile is always gone once he closes the door.

The experiment itself is simple. All he needs is to take out a piece of chalk and draw a circle of symbols onto the floor, along with a figure in the middle. He can never draw the figure without his chest tightening, without shudders running through his body.

After the eye of the figure is done, he takes a deep breath. 

"I'm ready to make a deal."

He readies himself for the world to end.

It never does. He never stops being relieved.

*

The unfortunate truth is, Ford can't stop thinking about Bill.

He can try to convince himself otherwise however many times he wants, but it's pointless; part of him remains sure that Bill is still alive somewhere. It doesn't matter if the memory gun worked, if the Weirdmageddon was reversed, if Stan's been living his life like a normal man and not like someone possessed- Ford remains sure. His story to Stan about anomalies that need to be tracked down, about wanting a second chance with Stan himself, is not a lie; the last thing especially is something Ford wants more than anything. But neither was the real reason why he took Stan out to the seas.

All this time, he has been documenting Stan's every single move. His mannerisms, his quirks, his behavior- no police profile on Stan could match the one that Ford has in the works. He has been keeping track of Stan's dreams, that are so much like his own in sense that they're full of Bill, to the point they feature almost nothing or no one else anymore. It's a sign that Stan is bothered by Bill, no matter how many times he says that he doesn't care. Whether it's Stan's own mind creating the haunting, or Bill himself, is another question.

So far, it all seems to be in Stan's head. Except that isn't quite it; it's all in Ford's head, all the shadows he imagines Bill casting on them, Bill's grip on his brother's dreams, on his brother's brain. Absolutely nothing supports the possibility that Bill is still around, but Ford is incapable of letting that possibility go.

There is just too much on the line for him to do that.

*

When Stan starts gaining weight, Ford notices it before Stan himself does. It concerns him; with their level of activity and the diet Ford is having them follow, there is no reason for Stan to be getting bigger. In fact Stan had lost a little weight in the beginning of their journey, signaling the major change in his lifestyle. But now his waistline keeps rounding out, his arms and chest keep getting fleshier. And then there are the other things.

"Sorry," Stan says at the breakfast table, turning white with nausea.

"Fuck," Stan says, more and more often after they're done with some physically heavy task, rubbing his wrists, the small of his back.

Stan seems to be sleeping more often too, preferring to do that over everything else whenever he has time for himself. All these things could be dismissed as symptoms of age, if not for the weight gain; together with that, they remind Ford too much of a certain period in their Ma's life. He tries to tell himself it can't be so.

_Bill is gone. Bill can't harm Stan._

_And even if he did, he would not-_

"Ford."

Snapped out of thought, all Ford can do for a moment is blink. When his eyes focus again, he notices that Stan is standing at the doorway of his cabin, holding his life vest in his hands.

"I need your help with this," Stan says. "It, um. Doesn't seem to fit me anymore."

There is a touch of shame in Stan's voice, which Ford is sorry to hear; he's not used to Stan feeling anything less than confident about himself. 

"We can adjust it for now," Ford says as he gets up from his bunk, where he's been lying and pondering. His eyes follow the soft curve of Stan's belly, and indeed there is no missing it's prominence now. It's a testament to their difficult history that they haven't even discussed this yet. "But we need to buy you a new one."

Stan grimaces. "Aw, shit."

"Safety comes before your vanity, Stanley."

"I know that, you jerk. But-" There is an anxious flash in Stan's eyes, his cheeks turning a little more red. "It's embarrassing, you know? We've been out here for so long and here I am, swelling up like bread in the oven."

"Maybe there is a medical reason for that," Ford suggests, now that they are finally talking about this. "Maybe we should get you to the doctor."

"Nah, I just need to watch what I'm doing. It's been a little quiet on the monster front so I've been slacking off too much." Stan makes himself grin. "Let's just look at the vest, okay?"

Ford thinks about arguing, but decides against it. Stan could very well be right. This could just be a temporary issue; Ford hadn't even thought about that option. That's how much Bill still dominates his mind.

He needs to let go.

*

It's not temporary.

*

"Stan, we need to get you to a hospital."

Stan is lying in his bunk, feverish. He hasn't been growing bigger anymore, but all the other symptoms have become worse; he can't hold his food in, his joints, back and stomach hurt all the time and he's constantly, endlessly tired. Worst of all, he has tried to hide it all from Ford, with such determination that he has actually been successful.

"You need to stop being stubborn, Stanley," Ford insists, too worried to be angry. Just like Stan to not come out with truths until they basically knock him out. "Something is seriously wrong with you and I don't have the means to find out what."

"I," Stan starts, only to end up groaning, his hand shooting up to rake through his hair.

"You what? What aren't you telling me?"

"I just don't think," Stan starts, before the sound dies in his throat, his eyes widening.

"What is it?"

Later, he will consider this the moment he was vindicated.

"Something just moved in me," Stan whispers.

And be so sorry.


	3. Panic

Stan is ready to take a knife to his belly.

Something fucking _moved_ inside him. It had done that softly, so softly that Stan had almost missed it, and that's what had alarmed him; Stan's body doesn't do soft. He is holding his stomach right now, fingers clenching against the malleable flesh without control. He wants to claw at it, claw whatever is inside him out.

"Stan, get a hold of yourself!"

That makes Stan realize that he's been growling low in his throat, making Ford stare at him in concern. Stan tries to calm down, do as Ford is saying, but he can't: he screams instead.

"Stan!"

He screams and screams, which makes Ford grab him from the shoulders first to get his attention; when that doesn't work, Ford smacks him. It's effective; when Stan is stunned to silence, Ford speaks again:

"Listen to me. We need to do an ultrasound. I have the equipment, just wai-"

"Wait, what?" Stan shakes his head, trying to focus. "Why do you have an ultrasound?"

Ford shrugs. "It's a useful piece of medical equipment that can be used for many purposes. Also, it's my take on it."

"But- oh well, never mind." Stan glances down at his belly, shivering at the idea of what might lurk within it. "Just fetch it."

*

When Ford returns, he's has some kind of screen tucked in his armpit and he's carrying a small bottle and a probe in his hands. Ford lowers the screen down onto Stan's night stand, setting the bottle and the probe down to unwrap a cable from around the screen; he attaches the cable to the scanner and then picks up the bottle again.

"Has that thing been tested?" Stan asks, nodding towards the probe and the screen, even as he's lifting his shirt up.

"On myself, several times." Ford pours gel on Stan's stomach, using the head of the probe to spread it around; it feels cold on Stan's skin. "Have some faith in me," Ford says, pressing down with the probe as he turns towards the screen, reaching for the underside for it to turn it on.

"Don't I always." Stan turns to the screen too, even as dread settles inside him.

It becomes a heavy weight when a vision of Stan's insides fills the screen.

There is a huge black lump inside him. It expands and constricts like a heart, in a steady rhythm; it's shapeless, formless, ominous. It looks nothing like the creatures Stan and Ford have run into, or like anything at all for that matter. That's both frightening and a relief.

At that moment it _splits_.

It falls apart before their eyes, into tiny, barely fingertip-sized pieces that are moving, fluttering against Stan's insides until they _melt_ into them, one by one until they're all out of sight. That should be the most horrifying thing to Stan: that there are many of these things, that they can move through him, become part of him. That extracting them from his body seems like a borderline impossible task now.

None of that horrifies him.

What horrifies him is that the creatures are all triangle-shaped.

*

But even that doesn't compare to the fear he feels when his mouth opens without his own prompting and starts to talk:

"Congratulations, boys. You're expecting!"


	4. Invader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Nelja for brainstorming with me, you are an angel. <3

Ford knew this was coming.

Yet, even as it's happening right before him, he doesn't want to believe it. He wants to close his eyes, he wants to run way- he's frozen in place. All he can do is stare into Stan's horrified eyes, and see his own fear reflected back at him.

"Oh, sorry, I guess I said it wrong." It's strange to see Stan's mouth smiling like that, soft and relaxed, while his eyes are full of panic, so wide they seem to be on the edge of bursting. "Stan and I are expecting, that's what I meant. Aren't you going to congratulate us, Fordsy?"

Ford lunges.

His hands are already around Stan's throat when he remembers that it's Stan he's about to choke, Stan who is staring at him in utter devastation- but it's Bill who is howling with laughter, his voice pitching higher and higher to the point he almost sounds like himself and not Stan, and Ford needs to _shut him up_. He tightens his fingers around Stan's neck.

"Careful, I don't think poor Fez is built for this kind of treatment!" And now Bill is finally in Stan's eyes too, turning the spheres of his pupils into slits as he brings one hand up on Ford's wrist, and one up to his face. "Missed me, Sixer?"

"Get. Out. Of. My. Brother."

Bill chuckles; it's a different sound from before, low and dark. It makes Ford's gut twist. "Trust me, I've tried," Bill says. "But since that hasn't worked out, I've been forced to get cozy instead." He grins. "And boy, is it cozy in good ol' Stan."

"What do you want?" Ford asks, frowning as he loosens his hold on Stan's neck. He tries to ignore the hand on his cheek that is caressing him, trailing its tips along his cheekbone.

For a while, Bill says nothing; he simply stares at Ford, still holding onto his wrist, still stroking his face. Feeling heat rise on his face, Ford removes his hands from around Stan's throat, not wanting to harm his brother any further; he hopes this will put an end to Bill touching him, too, touching and confusing him. The latter doesn't work; Bill's grip on his wrist tightens a bit, and he cups the side of Ford's face fully with his palm as he sits up on the bed, leaning closer to Ford.

"I want lots of things, Stanford," Bill says. "I want to be out of this lump of lard. I want to get started with my never-ending party already. I want my margarita." Bill's thumb moves against Ford's jaw. "I want you."

Despite everything, those words get to Ford.

"Whatever it is that you're planning," he says, slow and steady, "it's not going to happen."

_I'll never be yours again._

Of course, Bill laughs. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe."

He yanks Ford close with that, so hard that Ford nearly topples over Stan; he halts his fall just in time, only to find himself face to face with Bill, with only a breath separating them. Bill is breathing heavily, hotly against Ford's face, his lips, his eyes as unreadable as they have ever been.

"In the meanwhile, though? Let it all happen."

Bill slumps forward, his grip on Ford loosening; when Ford scrambles backwards from the bed, it's Stan who sits up on it, under his own power again.

*

"Fuck," Stan says.

Ford stares at his hand, the one Bill just squeezed from the wrist. It's still and steady, but he feels like he's shaking all over and can't stop. Trying to ignore that feeling, he focuses on Stan, who is looking at him in concern.

"You okay now, Sixer?"

"Am I okay?" Ford laughs, mirthless. "I should be the one asking that from you."

"Well, I asked you first." Stan shrugs. "So, Bill. Holy shit, fucking Bill."

"Yes." Ford still wants to deny it's true, that Bill is really back, but he knows it's pointless. Besides, it's time to uncover more truths. "Stan, did you know anything about this?"

He doesn't mean the words to come out as accusatory as they do, but when Stan's eyes flood with guilt, Ford feels his resolve harden. So Stan did know something; now the remaining questions are what and why. "What did you know?" he asks, deciding to start with the easy one.

Stan is silent first, looking down at his lap while Ford frowns at him. When Ford is about to ask him again, Stan starts speaking: "I had a dream where he attacked me in a lake." Stan is fiddling with his fingers, but he looks up at Ford at least, meeting his eyes. "It was- more real than the other dreams I had of him, but I didn't think that it meant anything. I've had realish dreams before and they didn't mean anything."

"Well, it's Bill we're talking about." Ford sighs, running a hand through his hair. It does nothing to ease the tension inside him. "You should have told me, Stan."

Stan is avoiding his eyes again. "Yeah, I should have."

Neither of them says a word for a while. Ford looks at Stan, his poor brother with his plump belly that he, Ford notices, can't even bear to touch right now; as if a touch will catch the attention of the creatures inside him. Ford thinks about telling him that it probably doesn't matter, that the creatures are elsewhere now and may only return to his belly later, if at all, but he decides not to; Stan probably isn't interested in hearing, anyway. Like Ford wants to deny Bill's return, Stan wants to deny his pregnancy.

Pregnancy. His brother is pregnant, with Bill's brood. He doesn't know if he wants to laugh or cry, or just scream like Stan did earlier. Maybe all at the same time, forever.

"What are we going to do?" Stan asks him, and Ford has no idea.


	5. Despair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for non-graphic attempted suicide.

The next time they dock the boat, Ford leaves to get them supplies. That gives Stan the perfect opportunity to kill himself.

They have a rifle on the boat, but Stan opts to fetch his own handgun instead; he'll have easier time handling that with his increasingly useless hands. Dragging himself out of the cabin to the storage room and back is an agonizing process, made no easier by the fact Bill keeps taunting him.

"Yeah, blow your brains out! That will show me!"

Bill takes over his legs every now and then, making them halt, but doesn't try to stop him otherwise; it's suspicious, but Stan doesn't have time to worry about that. This will be better for everyone: a nice, quick, clean end to it all, both to the problem of Bill's children and to Bill himself. Ford will grieve him, but he has the kids in his life now. He will get over it. When he gets back to his cabin, he sits down on the bunk, ready to do the deed.

"Stanley!"

But that is Ford's voice calling him.

It makes him freeze; Ford takes immediate advantage of that, closing the distance between them and throwing himself on Stan, grabbing him firmly from the wrist of the hand that is holding the gun. Safety is still on, to Stan's relief; that means he can fight back. He pulls his fist back and aims, but Ford is faster, slamming his head against Stan's. He does it again an instant later, grabbing Stan's other wrist while he's at it; before Stan knows it, he's pinned against the bunk, the gun is wrenched out of his hand, and Ford is screaming at him.

"How _dare_ you do this to me?" Ford releases him for a moment, sitting on Stan's legs as he empties the gun and throws the bullets away, and in the end gun itself. He grabs Stan from the shoulders then, shaking him hard. "After everything we've gone through, you _dare_ to take the easy way out? To give up?"

"Sometimes the easy solution is the best solution!" Stan snaps back, grabbing Ford from his wrists to pull them off. Of course, Ford doesn't even budge, but that doesn't stop Stan from talking. "Sometimes you have to make the sacrifice!"

" _You_ don't!" Ford yanks him up to a sitting position, pulling him near. "I won't let you die, Stan. Not because of Bill, not ever. You won't get to die on me."

The determination on Ford's face shakes Stan to the core; he has to look away. "We're not gods, Ford. Bill is."

"He's not." Ford lets him go, lifts his weight off from Stan's legs. "But you're my brother." He retrieves the gun and the bullets, never taking his eyes off Stan as he starts heading for the doorway. "I'll die before I'll let Bill have anything that's mine."

Ford marches off, leaving Stan to gape at his back.

*

_His._

As in, Ford's brother. Who happens to be important to him, who he doesn't want to lose because of Bill. That's all there is to it. It's all right that it's all there is to it. Sometimes, words are just words.

_His._

Sometimes, they're more.

*

All warmth leaves Stan's chest when Ford returns with rope.

"Ford, what the fuck!"

"It's for your own good, Stan."

Stan is swollen, aching and he feels dizzy, but he fights back anyway. He almost manages to lunge for the door once; Ford pulls him back with ridiculous ease, a sad reminder of how weak Stan has become. Panic gives him a momentary boost of strength before it drains him out of everything he has, leaving him shivering on the bunk as Ford lays him down onto his side, starting to bind his wrists together behind his back.

"Ford, please." Stan hates how small he sounds. "You don't have to do this."

"You've left me no choice." Ford sounds even smaller. "I can't let you die, not until we fix this."

"For fuck's sake, isn't there a better way?" Stan can't hold them back anymore, the tears; he can't stand how gentle Ford is being with him, even as he checks that the knots around Stan's wrists will hold before moving down to his legs. Ford bends his knees back, trying to be careful even though it hurts, it all hurts; Ford starts to fasten the rope around Stan's ankles as well.

"You've left me no choice." Damn, since when did Sixer become so good at tying people up? "I'm not going to lose you, Stan, not after everything we've been through." Ford tests the knots the again, the strength of the rope; it all holds, much to Stan's dismay. "Hopefully, this will all be over soon."

"Hopefully," Stan repeats, feeling as Ford gets off the bunk.

"We need to hold onto something, Stan." 

Stan listens as Ford leaves the cabin, trying to ignore Bill's laughter in his head.


	6. Foregone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for body horror and harm to triangles.

The night before, Ford had dreamed of Bill.

In the dream, he and Stan had stood on the deck of the Stan o' War II together, watching the sea. The sea had been calm and still, the waves splashing gently against the bulk of the boat; Stan's arm had been warm around Ford's shoulders, and Stan's shoulders had been strong and solid beneath Ford's arm. Stan hadn't been pregnant. Ford had never wanted anything more than for that dream to be reality, for everything to be all right in their lives again.

Stan's eyes had turned yellow.

"I wouldn't leave him alone for a long time if I were you," Bill had said, squeezing his arm tight around Ford's neck.

Just few hours ago, he had wondered why Bill would warn him about his own actions, since Bill was obviously the biggest threat to Stan. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Stan could become a threat to himself.

*

Ford has no time to waste.

He tries not to think of Stan on the bunk, bound, in pain, in tears; he can hate himself for doing that to his brother later. Now, it's more important to get Bill and his brood out, put an end to Stan's ordeal before Stan does it himself. He needs to leave the boat again and go to the town, get the things he needs for an exorcism.

Exorcising Bill hadn't worked for Ford in the past, because Bill had been free to enter and leave minds he had been invited to as he pleased; the rules of exorcism simply hadn't applied to him. But now that Bill is in Stan's mind, trapped against his will, Ford has a chance to expel him. He doesn't know if it will be enough to kill Bill, but at least it will get him out of Stan. If it works.

He can't afford to think of the possibility where it doesn't.

*

When he returns to the boat and Stan's cabin, Stan is in the middle of trying to loosen his bindings, his wrists angry red beneath the rope. He groans at Ford's arrival and falls slack on the bunk, panting slightly.

"What are you even going to do?" Stan asks him, lifting his head a little as he tries to look over his shoulder.

Ford doesn't answer; if Bill is listening to them, the less he knows the better. He does walk over to Stan to comfort him, stroking his shoulders to ease his tension; he can feel himself sag with relief when Stan relaxes at his touch, resting his head down again.

"This will help," he says, unable to help himself. He fiddles with Stan's hair, stroking the stray strands behind his ears for a moment before pushing his arms underneath Stan, pulling him off the bunk. He tries to be as careful as possible he lowers Stan to the floor, making sure Stan is as comfortable as he can be before standing up.

They say nothing as Ford sets the candles around Stan and lights them up; Stan follows Ford's every movement with his eyes, partly curious, partly afraid. Ford wonders if Bill is watching him through Stan's eyes too, if he's getting nervous. If he's not.

He'd better be.

"Get ready, Stanley," Ford says, and starts the first chant.

*

It doesn't work.

*

Neither does the second.

*

"Ford, I don't feel so good," Stan says in the middle of the third one, which gets Ford's hopes up for a moment; he repeats the whole thing for a few times before accepting that Stan's reaction was just a fluke, and moving onto the next one.

*

It doesn't work.

*

"Ford," Stan says again, and this time he starts to struggle, gritting his teeth together as he twists against the rope holding him still. Ford almost stops to soothe him, check what's wrong, but this time it could be working; he needs to go on. He hates the sound of his own voice as he keeps chanting, but maybe this will be the end of it, maybe this will save Stan, it _has_ to save Stan-

*

"Ford!"

That's it; he forgets the spell and goes to Stan, starts to pull the knots open as Stan's whole body folds, his mouth gaping wide with violent gags. As soon as Stan's legs are free, Stan gets up on his knees, bending over as he heaves and heaves until he's finally vomiting. Ford can only watch as a dark, bloody mass spills out of Stan's mouth, coming apart with a splash as it connects with the floor, undoing itself into a twisted mess of tiny arms and legs and soft, flat, triangular bodies-

Ford's hands have been working on the rope around Stan's wrists, pulling it loose, but now they have gone still, just resting numbly against Stan as Stan starts to free himself, spitting out last of blood and viscera out of his mouth while muttering something Ford can't understand. Or maybe he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to understand any of th-

Stan chuckles, sitting up straight; Ford knows instantly what that means, but he freezes anyway, unable to even move.

"The thing is, boys," Bill says, swaying slightly as he looks down at his dead young, "I have plenty of these ready to go. You two got- well, you two. I would pick your battles carefully."

Bill goes still, and remains that way for a long time; Ford doesn't realize Stan has returned to his body until Stan lifts his hands to his mouth, gripping down hard as he tries not to shout. Ford is beyond sound himself.


	7. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deals with an aftermath of botched exorcism/abortion.

Somehow, Stan manages to quiet down.

Ignoring Ford’s attempts to hold him back, he leans closer to the black mass on the floor. Except that it isn’t a mass, of course, not really; it’s a pile of small, flat, soft bodies, all triangular in shape, all black. They remind him of tadpoles, their faces featureless aside from the large, translucent eyes that seem to take most of the space from their fronts, their limbs already separated into hands and legs, into tendrils that are going to be fingers and-

Stan freezes.

Ford is trying to say something to him, but Stan can’t hear him. Reaching out to lift up one impossibly tiny hand, he counts its digits.

Six.

Six fingers. Like Ford. Like Stan, if Stan’s luck in the genetic lottery had been just a little different.

Stan begins to howl again.

*

He is numb and almost totally out of it when Ford leads him into his own cabin, puts him in his bunk. As he helps Stan onto his side, he strokes Stan’s hair behind his ear, his fingertips lingering on Stan’s cheek.

“I need to examine the remains,” Ford says, ever practical. “I’ll try to return as soon as possible. I need you to promise me that you won’t try to hurt yourself.”

Stan laughs. “Ford, right now I can hardly lift my arm.”

Ford isn’t happy with that reply, but he nods, stroking Stan’s hair a little more before pulling away. “Rest, Stan.”

He does’t really want to, not when Bill can be there, waiting for him in his dreams. But his eyelids are weighing down, and Ford has barely left the cabin when Stan is already dozing off.

*

When he wakes up again, Ford is back, sitting on the edge of the bunk. He is staring at the wall, elbows resting against his knees, fingers laced beneath his jaw. Stan doesn’t have the best angle to Ford’s face, but he can see that his eyes are wide, restless.

“Hey,” Stan says, which startles Ford; fortunately, he doesn’t freak out, turning to Stan calmly as he meets his eyes. Stan had been smiling, hoping to reassure Ford, but seeing how serious Ford is makes him lose the smile; no use pretending everything is okay anymore. “What did you find out?”

Stan braces himself for the worst.

“I think you should let your pregnancy run through its natural course,” Ford says.

Stan isn’t prepared for that at all.

“Ford, why in the hell would I do that?”

Ford inhales sharply, eyes flaring just a little more open with distress. “Because we don’t have any other options,” he says. “They’re part-human, Stan. They look like him, but they’re part-human. We have no control over how they’re going to come ou-”

“How about old-fashioned abortion?” Stan asks, even as six, small, black fingers flash in his mind, so strong he can almost feel their barely there weight on his own finger. Both of his hands clench, and he finds himself glancing at his belly, the endless mound of it.

“How would we do that? We don’t know if poisons work on them. We don’t know how to track them down or how to extract them. Any of those options might kill you instead of them. No.” Ford is all determined now, leaning closer to Stan to rest his hands on Stan’s shoulders, making sure he has his attention. “We need to let them be born.”

“Aren’t we giving Bill what he wants, then?” Stan asks, trying to keep the panic inside him from bubbling up. He’s not entirely successful; he can feel his breathing pick up in speed. “Aren’t we just giving up?”

“No, Stanley.” Ford’s hands move up to his neck, thumbs hitching up to stroke his jawline. “Trust me, Bill’s end game isn’t siring half-breed children. Especially- well.”

“Not with me?” Stan shrugs before Ford starts looking guilty, to let him know it’s okay. The last thing he cares about right now is Bill’s feelings about him. “Never was wife material.”

The corners of Ford’s mouth quirk a little at that, but he gets himself under control again, looking at Stan with a serious expression. “In any case, once they are born, we can do something about them.”

Six tiny fingers come to his mind again. “Like what, exactly?”

He’s not sure whether to be relieved or unnerved that Ford doesn’t have an answer.


	8. Union

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some body horror and pregnant guy getting sexual (no fucking though, sorry).

"Ford, help me!"

Stan burns hot to the touch, his skin sticky with sweat. Ford strips Stan of his soaked clothes, tries to dry him off and gives him water to drink, but none of it helps; Stan is still in agony, flinching at the slightest touches, the thin skin of his belly pulled taut. There are sharp points pressed against it from the inside, along with small hands.

"I think they're," Stan starts, only to end up whimpering as his stomach, then his whole body begins to glow, heat spreading into air until Ford is sweating and panting too. He stares as the vertexes beneath Stan's skin start to gather together, fusing into each other, each new triangle bigger than the ones that just fused.

"He's coming!" Stan is on his back, limbs splayed wide and head thrown back, breathing heavily as he starts to shake all over. "You've got to kill me, Ford!"

There is a sound coming from inside Stan, low and rumbling first but growing louder; Ford stares at the one large triangular shape in Stan's belly that keeps growing, absorbing other triangles inside it, pressing its hands against Stan's stretched skin and spreading its fingers wide. It's laughing.

"What are you waiting for? Do it, now!"

It pulls its hand back, like it's preparing for a punch.

"Ford!"

To punch through Stan.

*

Ford wakes up.

He's not thinking; he sees that there is someone standing by his bunk and he bounces up, hand shooting up to the intruder's neck and other to their shoulder. When his feet touch to the floor, he is ready to drive his knee into the intruder's groin, but that's when his opponent screams.

It's a primal sound, more a howl than something that a human would make, but it makes Ford snap back into reality: his whole body goes cold when he realizes that it's Stan who he's choking, and he pulls back hastily, backing up on his bunk. Stan backs up too, to the other side of the cabin, touching his throat gingerly as he stares blankly in Ford's direction. In his direction, because it doesn't seem like he really sees Ford, or anything else for that matter. His eyes look dead.

Ford can't stand it; he gets up from the bunk, moving as slowly as he possibly can as he approaches Stan. Stan's back has touched to the wall, and he's still touching his throat, still staring ahead as Ford walks over to him. It's only when Ford reaches out for him when Stan reacts.

Stan throws himself at Ford, wrapping his arms around his neck.

For a moment, Ford can only stand there as Stan buries his face into the crook of his neck, drawing in long, shuddering breaths. Then, his arms find their way around Stan, holding onto him as tight as he can. He presses own face into Stan's hair, nosing the soft locks, stroking the long slope of Stan's back with both hands. He's not sure which of them is the first one to start moving, but they sink down to the floor together, until they're on their knees.

Ford brushes Stan's hair out of the way and kisses his cheek, lips pressing close to Stan's ear. When Stan doesn't go tense, he dares to kiss Stan again, this time on another spot on his cheek, then on another, and another. Cradling Stan in his arms. he starts to lay Stan down to the floor, careful not to rest his weight on Stan's belly.

Setting his hands on each side of Stan's face, he looks down at his brother, at his disheveled hair, his flushed cheeks, his wide, awe-filled eyes. After a moment of hesitation, Ford leans down, bringing his mouth close to Stan's, but not touching them together. He closes his eyes when he sees Stan tilt his chin up ever so slightly, and mere seconds later Stan's lips are brushing against his, and they're kissing.

Stan is softer than he has any right to be, and his touch is more delicate than Ford could have ever imagined when Stan reaches up to cup Ford's face with both hands, holding Ford still as he nibbles on Ford's lips. Ford parts them a little, repeating the movement against Stan's mouth until it opens beneath his touch and he can taste Stan. Their tongues stroke against each other in a tentative manner, as if in greeting.

Ford's cock is throbbing, and he wants to press against his brother to let him know how much he wants him, but he knows they should stop this; neither of them are in the right mind for this. But when he starts to pull away, Stan's grip on his face tightens, and when Ford opens his eyes he can see Stan staring at him in despair.

"Sixer, please," Stan says. "Don't turn away from me."

That's all it takes; Ford leans back in, takes his brother back from Bill.

*

"Fuck," Stan says, later.

They are still on the floor, which is cold and uncomfortable, but they are fully clothed and squeezed against each other. Ford thinks about going to the bunk to grab them a blanket, or urging Stan to get up so they can go see if they can fit in the bunk together, but he doesn't want to leave Stan's side, nor humiliate Stan if the bunk is too small for both of them. He snuggles against Stan's side, murmuring: "What?"

"I've wanted this for so long and- this is not how I thought it would go down." Stan shakes his head before tilting it towards Ford, so their foreheads can touch. "I never thought it would go down at all, actually."

"Neither did I." Although Ford had fantasized about it, about kissing Stan on this boat, sharing his bed. Bill was never supposed to be involved with this, in any way, at any time. "How long have you loved me, Stanley?"

Stan laughs. "Do you really need an answer to that question?"

Ford thinks about it for a moment before shrugging; Stan has a point. One way or another, they have always loved each other; this is just one more way for them to express it.

"Fair enough," he says, pressing his lips against Stan's temple. "How long have you wanted to kiss me?"

Now it's Stan's turn to get lost in thought.

"At least since we were teens," he says after a while. "You?"

"Same with me." Ford rests his nose against Stan's cheek, inhaling his scent. "It's a shame it took such- madness for us to finally admit it."

"Yeah." Stan's hand finds Ford's chest, rests down upon his heartbeat. "Yeah, it is."

They fall into a silence, a silence that Ford would like to keep as comfortable one, the kind that will lull them to sleep. But he cant; now that he has taken this step with Stan, there is something Stan needs to know right away.

"Stan?"

"Hmmh?" 

"There is something you need to know." Ford inhales deep, trying not to shudder. "About Bill and I."


	9. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ford talks about his relationship with Bill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: References to abusive relationship.
> 
> Note: Sorry to deliver such short chapter after a nearly month's wait! Next one is gonna be a big one though.

In a way, Stan has been waiting for this. Ever since he, Ford, Soos and the kids had dragged Ford’s memorabilia about Bill out of the Shack to be burnt, he had known that there was something big about Bill that Ford hadn’t shared with him yet. But he hadn’t tried to pry, reasoning that Ford would tell him when he felt ready; when that hadn’t happened, Stan had convinced himself that it didn’t matter. It had been true most of the time, too, but it hadn’t meant Stan had stopped being curious.

Now that curiosity is finally about to be sated, and Stan couldn’t feel more nervous. But he braces himself, reaching up to stroke Ford’s cheek as he says:

“All right, out with it.”

He’s trying to sound casual, like this is a normal conversation so Ford will feel relaxed with him, but when Ford says nothing, Stan starts to fear that he just blew it. It’s a relief when Ford starts to speak:

“Bill and I- we were together.” From this close, Stan can see Ford’s jaws twitch, his teeth grind against one other. “I was in love with him, Stanley.”

As hard as Stan tries to understand, part of him can’t help but flinch at those words. Ford was in love with Bill - Ford was in LOVE with BILL- Stan pushes his repulsion deep down inside himself, knowing that Ford has done nothing to deserve it. Stan knows damn well that Ford is just as much of Bill’s victim as Stan himself is.

Remembering that makes Stan freeze, his fingers clenching against Ford’s face. Did Bill-?

“Stan?” Ford asks, grabbing Stan’s wrist.

“It’s okay,” Stan says, forcing his fingers to relax, to stroke Ford again. “Come on, get it all out.”

He can sense Ford frowning, but Ford seems to decide to leave the questions for later, continuing: “I was crazy about him. I thought he was so charming, so intelligent- the most amazing creature I had ever met. I couldn’t believe that a being like him could see anything special in me-”

“Don’t say that,” Stan interrupts. He should probably be quiet and just listen, but he doesn’t want to hear Ford trash himself.

“It’s how I felt,” Ford says. He pauses for a moment, turning his face away from Stan. “He- made me feel special.”

Now _that_ stings. Stan bites the inside of his cheek, to keep himself from blurting something that he might regret. Instead, he asks:

“Did he treat you well?”

Ford doesn’t answer, and it doesn’t take long for Stan to start feeling sick, then enraged. Of course Bill didn’t, what did he expect from that bastard?

“Sometimes,” Ford says. Stan’s not sure if that answer is much better than a straight up no would have been. “He would do things to me that would make me lose my mind, in a good way.” Ford’s arm finds its way underneath Stan’s shoulders, wrapping around them. “But yes, sometimes he did hurt me.”

“Did he ever rape you?” Stan is unable to keep the darkness out of his voice, unable to not shake.

Ford is quiet, awfully quiet. “I always enjoyed it,” he says, after a while.

“That’s not a no,” Stan says, squeezing his eyes shut to have some control over himself.

Ford sighs deep. “No, it’s not,” he admits, and that’s what pushes Stan over the edge.

Pressing his face against Ford’s shoulder, Stan holds onto his brother, sobbing dryly. The crying fit doesn’t last long, thankfully enough, but it still leaves Stan feeling embarrassed; it’s Ford who just shared something terrible with him, and here is Stan hogging all the attention. Ford, on the other hand, just strokes Stan’s shoulders and arms, kisses him on the temple.

“It’s in the past,” Ford says, voice calm like he’s talking about the weather. “Compared to other things Bill did, it was minor.”

Stan hates knowing that Ford has been hurt in worse ways, but part of him is happy that this isn’t the ruling trauma in Ford’s life. Stan can carry at least one of Ford’s burdens, this way.

“All right,” he says, because he’s not sure what else to say. But he holds Ford tighter, hoping that says more.

*

It doesn’t take long for Stan to speak up as well.

“Ford?”

“Hmm?”

“I have something to tell about Bill, too.”

Ford goes tense against him. “Go on.”

Stan takes a quick breath in, then starts to talk: “Remember when I said I dreamed of him attacking me in a lake?”

“Yes?” Ford’s arm, still slung around Stan’s shoulders, tightens slightly around him. Stan can feel Ford’s heart beat fast within his chest, and his own heartbeat isn’t far behind. For an instant, he wishes he hadn’t spoken up at all, but he has to continue:

“It was- sexual.” He can’t believe how much his eyes are stinging, how much it still hurts. “He knocked me up right there and then, Ford.”

Ford is squeezing him so hard now that it’s kind of hurting, but Stan lets him; this isn’t probably any true news to Ford, but still it can’t be nice to hear.

“He didn’t.”

Stan stops breathing. “What?”

“Bill used magic to impregnate you. He could have done it without you noticing at all.” Ford turns his body towards Stan, wrapping his other arm around Stan as well. “He didn’t need to do that, Stan. He did it only to hurt you.”

It shouldn’t be a surprise in any way. Still, Stan is shocked. Things flash through his mind: the lake, the rush of the tentacles for his limbs, the golden light filling the water. His body trying to drown and failing, the way he was breached and filled, Bill’s laughter. “Why?” he asks, though he knows.

“Revenge.” Ford confirms the obvious, just in case. “You put an end to him. He’s going to do the same to you.”

Stan snorts. “I could have settled for something more straightforward.”

Ford cups his cheek, stroking his thumb over the bone. “He won’t succeed.”

He kisses Ford before any doubts start coming in.


	10. Hurry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill pops by for a visit. Warning for some body horror.

"Well, well, well! Don't you two make the most precious sight?"

Ford's entire being lurches at that voice. He takes in his surroundings; he's still in his cabin and Stan is still in his arms. His hand is clutching Stan's belly, possessive in a way it would never be in real life. Even now that he knows he's dreaming, he has to pull it away.

"What, you're averse to my brood? I'm offended, Stanford."

"I don't care." Ford starts to pull out from beneath the dream Stan, who promptly starts to melt the moment Ford stops touching him. Ford tries not to shiver at that. "What do you want, Bill?"

He's surprised at the coldness of his own voice, given how scared he's feeling inside. Bill has stayed away from him and Stan ever since he intervened with Stan's suicide attempt; Ford has assumed it's because the incubation of the magical children has been taking its toll on Bill, too. If he's able to appear in Ford's dream like this, does it mean he's getting stronger? "Bill," he says, ready to repeat his question.

"Do I need a reason? Maybe I just want to be here with my favorite nerd." Bill clasps his hands behind his back, starting to drift towards Ford. Ford finds himself backing off; that makes Bill laugh. "Nervous, Fordsy? Don't be. You know I'd never harm you."

Hard laughter escapes from Ford. "Aren't you ashamed of saying something like that out loud?"

"I don't need to be ashamed of anything." Bill's mirth disappears in an instant, his eye turning cold. "So let me tell you this: whatever happy futures you have in mind for you and your brother, you can forget about them."

Ford's stomach twists. "Why?" 

It's a really fucking stupid thing to ask and he regrets it immediately, but it's too late. Bill's eye narrows until the black of his pupil is thread-thin, then he screams:

"Because STAN doesn't get to have a happy ending!"

Bill zaps over to the melting Stan on the floor, grabbing him from the front of his still tangible shirt. He starts pulling, turning Stan into a solid, whole human again as Stan rises to his feet, after which Bill pulls him close to his eye. He's turning red and black all over, growing in size.

"You really think I'm going to let him get away with killing me? Not going to happen, Fordsy, not on my watch!" 

Bill's eye swaps into a mouth and stretches wide, full of long, sharp teeth. Dream Stan can only scream when that mouth closes over his head and bites down; Ford can't even make a sound.

"I will destroy him, Fordsy." Bill swallows, audibly; he shows his teeth to Ford, the blood and the viscera on them. "You can bet it will be nothing like this, sweet Sixer. It will be a lot worse."

"I'm not going to let it happen," Ford says, nails digging into his palms at the sight of the headless Stan crumbling to the floor. The corpse starts to melt into a puddle of blood and rotten meat, and this time Ford can't hold back a shiver. "You won't have him."

"I'll have him." Bill is golden again when he appears before Ford, extending a small, black hand towards his face. "And I'll have you."

Ford isn't fast enough to wake up before the hand touches him, so he has to feel its soft skin against his cheek, its too life-like warmth.

*

Next morning in the kitchen, Ford tells Stan about the dream.

"He wants to destroy me?" Stan laughs, and to Ford's surprise there is actual mirth in it. "He can try."

It's not what Ford expected, but he takes it; it's only good if Stan isn't rattled by Bill's possible presence. It encourages him to drop another bomb of news on Stan later, when they're doing dishes together.

"We need to return to Gravity Falls."

This time, he gets the expected reaction as Stan's face falls.

"Do we have to? I don't- I think we could manage things here." Stan glances down at his belly, fingers twitching around the cup he's holding. "Homebirths are a thing, Ford."

Stan looks like he's hurting, and Ford hates that he has to do this. But there is no avoiding it; Stan giving birth at the sea simply isn't an option. They've been stalling their return too long, anyway, both of them deciding to rather avoid reality. They need to fix things before it's too late.

"You know it will be dangerous," he says. "We need controlled circumstances, Stan. At the Shack we'll be better prepared."

Ford rests his hand down on Stan's neck, stroking the tense muscles. Stan accepts the touch, but he tilts his head away a bit, trembling beneath Ford's fingers.

"Everyone is going to see," he says.

"We'll be discreet about our return. Only Soos, his mother and girlfriend are going to see you like this."

"That's more than enough people."

Ford wraps his arm around Stan's shoulders, squeezing him close. "I'm sorry, but we don't have a choice. You need to live through this, Stan. I can't stand it if you don't."

It's a selfish thing to say, but it's the truth, and Ford has to be truthful to Stan. Stan turns to look at him, still apprehensive, but softening at the sight of Ford's face.

"All right," he says. "But as far as they're considered, I'm ill. They don't need to know I'm pregnant."

Ford chuckles. "That's fair."

*

He fully expects Bill to appear in his dreams next night, bringing hellfire with him.

There is no sight of him.

*

Fearing the worst, he goes immediately into Stan's cabin upon waking up, shaking him awake to interrogate him.

"Jeez," Stan mutters, reaching up to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. "I was having a good dream, for once."

Well, that should answer Ford's question. "That's good," he says. "I thought-"

"That Bill would come bothering me? Yeah, me too."

The cheerful tone in Stan's voice is just a tad too much, tipping off to Ford that something about it is fake. Ford hesitates for a moment before reaching out for Stan's face, stroking grey locks of hair behind his ear. "Were you worried?"

Stan rolls his eyes, prepared to scoff at him.

He ends up gasping instead, his eyes growing wide.

"Ford," he says, clutching Ford tight from the arm. "Something is happening to me!"

Immediately alarmed, Ford gets up from the bed. He starts to take covers off Stan to see what is happening with his body while Stan lies down, taking deep, gaping breaths as he goes pale and still. Ford goes cold with fear when he sees that Stan's boxers are bloody, taking only slight comfort in the fact that there is not much of it. Still, he wastes no time digging his fingers beneath the waistband of Stan's boxers, starting to pull them down.

"Careful," Stan breathes, covering his eyes with his arm.

"Don't do that, keep your eyes open," Ford says, pushing the boxers down to Stan's ankles and lifting one of his legs out of them so he'll have room to maneuver. He can see that Stan's taint is slick with blood, and he inhales fast and deep before pushing Stan's legs apart.

He finds himself unable to exhale.

"What's in there?" Stan has moved his arm away, trying to lift his head.

"It's-" 

Ford sucks in another breath, staring at the bloody slit that has opened up in Stan's taint, gaping wide like a mouth. It looks like a wound, almost, but he knows it's not that. "It's an entrance."

"A what?" Realization rises into Stan's eyes before Ford can even say anything, and he stares at Ford for confirmation. Ford nods, heart beating fast in his chest.

"They're coming?" Stan asks, just to make sure.

"Yes."


	11. Labor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan gives birth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for body horror, character death and harm towards children.

Stan is not ready.

Ford leaves to his own cabin to get it ready for labor -  _labor_  - and Stan is alone, unable to escape himself. He can't escape his massive belly, the way it appears to be undulating right under his eyes. He can't escape the  bloody slit in his taint, gaping more and more open with every second. He can't escape Bill.

"Isn't this exciting?" Bill asks with Stan's own mouth, smiling. "I get to squeeze between your legs again."

Stan is moments away from screaming when Ford comes back.

"Let's get you to my cabin," Ford says.

"I'll see you soon," Bill says, in his mind alone this time.

Stan grinds the inside of his cheek between his teeth, responding to Ford with a curt nod.

*

Ford's preparations are crude. The bunk has been covered with simple plastic wrapping that may or may not be sterilized; Stan gets to lie on top of it on his bare ass, spreading his legs as wide as he manages. On the floor, there is a bucket full of water and a pile of towels, and it takes Stan a moment to realize they're not for him.

"I thought we were going to kill them."

Ford, who has been examining the growing hole between Stan's legs, goes still over his words. "If that's what you want, then of course," he says. "Just tell me and I'll do it."

It should be easy to say yes.

"Let's see how this goes." Stan leans his head down on the plastic-covered pillow, staring focusing on the ceiling. The things inside him are rotating, bumping around; every movement they make sends pain flare through Stan’s body. "Let's hope this will be over soon."

They both know that won't be the case.

*

It takes half an hour for the first of his spawn to come out. Once Stan feels its small body gliding into the unnatural passage that has been carved inside him, his own body is telling him what to do; he needs to push it out. It turns out he can’t.

"It's stuck," Ford says, peering inside him. "I'll try to free it."

Stan's new hole has become quite wide by now, but it still hurts when Ford starts to ease his hand inside him, and Stan can't stop tears from welling up in his eyes. Ford reaches out to stroke his arm with his free hand; Stan grabs him from his wrist, trying to return his caress.

"Why is that thing so hard?" The thing that is caught inside the passage, its corners pressing into the soft, bending walls of flesh, is hard all over, not like Bill who was solid but flexible. "Is it covered in teeth?"

"It's smooth." He can feel how Ford grabs the hold of the little creature, slowly starts to shake it loose. "It's cold."  
  
Stan snorts. "Just like daddy."  
  
"No, I mean-" Ford stops for a moment, looking Stan in the eye. "I think it's dead."  
  
Stan stares at him for a while, blinking. Ford starts to move the stiff little thing inside Stan again, and after a while he manages to dislodge it from the flesh surrounding it, pulling it slowly out of Stan.  
  
"Is it really?" Stan asks, not quite believing it yet.

Ford stares down at his bloody hand for a moment before lifting it up to Stan’s line of sight, uncurling his fingers. A small, curled up stone triangle lies on his palm, its little hands covering its eye.

*

The nine that follow are the same way: all stone, all dead. Eleventh one, preceding another set of stones, is a limp, black thing that slips out of Stan as if by accident, sliding few inches on the slick plastic before Ford captures it.

"That one is alive, right?" Stan asks, breathing heavily as the masses inside him surge a bit forward again. "It lives?"

Ford doesn't answer him, turning the little creature on his hand onto its back. Its tiny feet with their sets of six toes are hanging off the edge of Ford's hand, completely limp.

"C'mon, Ford, do something."

Ford grabs the eyelid of the creature and pulls it carefully back, revealing an unfocused, staring eye. He closes his mouth over it, breathing slowly onto it; Stan stares at Ford, then at the feet of the creature, feet that still hang limp.

"C’mon, harder!”

One foot starts to turn grey.

*

Three stones later, another living one comes out.

"C'mon," Stan says.

Ford taps it on the soles of its feet; it twitches over each tap. Its eyelid flutters, but remains closed.

A high-pitched whine erupts from it, filling Stan with something he didn't know he needed to feel.

*

The first survivor is followed by two others, both of them black as well, with six digits on their hands and feet. Ford gives them all a quick wash in the bucket before resting them down on top of the pile of towels, leaving them there to snuggle with each other. Stan finds himself staring at them whenever he's not groaning and pushing, whenever his heart isn’t sinking over yet another dead triangle.

The fourth survivor makes his heart skip a beat.

"I think Bill would try to be subtler than this," Ford comments.

It's probably true. Still, Stan can't help but feel a little nervous when Ford rests a golden triangle down next to the black ones.

*

Second to last triangle to come out is the last one to survive.

"C'mon," Stan says when Ford closes his mouth over its eye, breathing life into it. This one receives it, its little hands curling into fists as it starts squirming beneath Ford's mouth, feet kicking out.

The last triangle, a stone, is bigger than all the rest. It's too big for Stan's passage, getting stuck almost immediately after it becomes visible to Ford. Stan's body is desperate to get it out, pushing even when Stan tries to stop it from doing so, screaming in agony when it keeps going.

"Stan, you have to try to relax," Ford says. "I don't want to cut you. I have no idea if you'll heal if I do."

He tries. The kid moves a little forward before getting stuck again. Ford has to push his hands, both of them, inside Stan, making him sob by the time he finally reaches the dead kid.

"Keep trying," Ford says.

It's pure pain and Stan is sure his insides are torn open despite Ford’s efforts to spare him from that, but they get it out. Ford puts the stone kid among the others of its kind before coming over to Stan, leaning over him as he reaches out to stroke his hair.

"You did it. It's over."

Stan wants to tell Ford he’s gross for touching his hair with a bloody, slimy hand. Instead, he shudders and closes his eyes, nodding as he leans into Ford’s touch.

It’s over.

* 

Of course it’s not really over.

The kids - that’s what they are, whether they will live or not - have been mostly quiet, but it’s like the birth of their last dead sibling was a signal for them to become lively. When Stan opens his eyes, he can see them writhing on the pile of towels, letting out tiny squeaks and wails, obviously trying to crawl somewhere.

To Stan.

Ford stands up, looking down at them. He looks at Stan, eyes unreadable. It’s time to make a choice.

“Bring them here.”

Ford doesn’t move right away. But he does in the end, walking over to the pile of towels and picking the top one and the kids on it up carefully, carrying them all over to Stan. He sets the towel down on Stan’s flattened stomach, makes sure the kids are safely in the middle.

Stan doesn’t move right away either, watching the newborn triangles as they start squirming towards his chest, reminding him of stingrays on dry ground. He reaches out with his arms and closes them loosely around the little ones, so they won’t fall.


End file.
